The Moment of the Yew Tree
by Talriga
Summary: 1945. Two professors speak with Tom Marvolo Riddle before he leaves Hogwarts.


**Title**: The Moment of the Yew Tree  
**Author**: Talriga  
**Summary**: 1945. Two professors speak with Tom Marvolo Riddle before he leaves Hogwarts.  
**Category/Ships:** General, with a little tragedy/angst (That is, Tom Riddle using his great potential for terrible objectives.). Gen.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Note: **Written for the omniocular livejournal community June challenge, All in a Day's Work. Prompt #41: _The last day of term, any teacher_. T.S. Eliot's _Four Quartets_ provided the title (Little Gidding) and the italicized phrases (East Coker). May be disturbing to those who are not familiar with the character of TMR. ;) HBP spoilers. The "yew tree" of the title is meant to refer to Tom Riddle's wand.

_do not let me hear_

Crystallized pineapple has always been my favourite treat; the type bought at Honeydukes in Hogsmeade is fine, perhaps, but _L'Delicieux_'s candy has always been more to my taste. Tom knows this, of course; but then again, Tom knows everything.

It's the last day of term, before the students leave Hogwarts, and Tom was kindly considerate enough to stop by and bid me farewell. Slytherin prefect, Head Boy… he has a singularly uncanny ability to achieve his goals with a nearly unholy zeal, and it's really rather nice that he remembers me—and even brought a box of _L'Delicieux_'s crystallized pineapple. He really does think of everything.

I ask him, jovially, "So, have you made arrangements for employment after Hogwarts, Tom? I haven't heard _anything_ from you about it."

Tom shrugs, a shifting motion of the shoulders. "I have, sir. Caractacus Burke has consented for me to work at Borgin and Burke's."

I blink. Now _this_ is a development I did not foresee, and for a moment a strange stab of disappointment runs through me. "Borgin and Burke's? I was under the impression that you would take up a job at the Ministry, Tom." And indeed I was. I have been poking fun at Tom about him becoming Minister of Magic since… well, since he came to Hogwarts. He certainly has the intelligence for it, and the ambition, and the cunning, and the charisma. The perfect Slytherin, in fact. Salazar Slytherin could not have asked for anything less.

He looks at me with an odd glint in his eyes. Red? I think. It must be the lighting. Perhaps I ought to get new draperies; I have only had the bright red and green ones for a few months—Albus's Christmas present to me, it was very generous, if somewhat silly (but Albus can often be silly, anyway)—and I rather like them, but lately I have begun to think about a new colour scheme for my office. Purple, maybe? Or a return to the traditional Slytherin green and silver—

"I thought I would like to get some experience outside of the Ministry," Tom is saying; smiling slightly in that disarming way of his. "Professor Relique mentioned quite a few interesting artefacts during Ancient Runes, and I considered that it might be interesting to examine some kinds of artefacts, even if only in a commercial sense." And he smiles again.

"I suppose so," I say doubtfully. "More experience in the real world, before you go into the Ministry?"

Tom, oddly enough, is amused. "Perhaps." There is a look of entertainment on his face, but I am not quite sure why. Tom is amused at the strangest things, sometimes.

"Well," I reply, "do stop by and see me sometime, won't you? I wouldn't like to lose touch with you—one of my best students, you know." I beam generously at him.

"Maybe, when I have lots of time," says Tom, another mysterious smile curving his handsome mouth. "After all, you've taught me so much."

"Indeed." I pop a piece of crystallized pineapple into my mouth. "I'll eagerly be waiting for you, and we can chat about how you're doing."

Tom gets to his feet. "I look forward to it, Professor Slughorn."

_of the wisdom of old men_

A young boy, wearing Hufflepuff colours, hurries past me, and chooses that moment to trip on his robes. I help him up. "Do be more careful next time, Mr Abelson," I tell him. "Try not to be so hasty. The carriages won't be leaving without you."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, Professor Dumbledore."

And he rushes off, anyway.

I let out a rather indulgent sigh. Those who are youthful seem to always be dashing around, single-mindedly forcing themselves forward in life—but then, of course, sometimes they do forget what really matters.

I brush at the sleeves of my dark blue robes—I would've rather worn my bright canary yellow ones, but Armando insisted on the blue since he said it's more dignified for me. I personally think the yellow ones are more striking. Galatea Merrythought says they're atrocious.

The sun is bright today; I have to shade my eyes with my hand as I peer at the Hogwarts carriages. One of the thestrals near me tosses its head lightly and swings around, jolting the carriage a little. I wonder how many of the students can actually see the thestrals; I hope none of them do. I hope none of them ever do.

Hogwarts is full of serenity, and I do wish I could stay here—however, I am leaving tomorrow. I promised the Ministry some time ago that I would help them in tracking down some rather pesky rogue Dark wizards. The leader of them calls himself Grindelwald—which is actually the name of some town somewhere in Europe, apparently where his ancestors lived—but his real name is Max Genscher. These rogue wizards—they pop up like weeds all over the place. Quite irritating, I suppose, but nothing that can't be stopped.

Someone steps lightly past me. I look to the side and see the Head Boy, his black hair impeccably swept back from his forehead. "Hello, Mr Riddle."

He turns his head, a quick jerk that manages to appear handsome anyway, and his dark eyes under arched eyebrows dart towards me. "Professor Dumbledore." There is a distinct coolness in his voice that blows like a cold, frigid breeze across me.

I smile back at him, although I am aware that it is, as always, a restrained smile. "Well, it is time to leave Hogwarts. I imagine it must feel rather strange."

Tom Riddle's face twists slightly. "Yes, it is." Surprising, I think, that there seems to be a tone of—what? wistfulness? tension?—in his voice. But why is it surprising?

I do not try to put it in words. Instead, I turn my mind away from that. "It is always a little intimidating, going into the world," I say. "Allow me to offer you some advice, if I may."

He watches me, his face half-hidden by the shadow the castle casts upon him. He does not nod. My mind is suddenly blank—what should I say? I am not quite sure if it will make any difference (any difference in what?)—but I go on anyway.

"Enjoy life while you can," I say, finally. It seems rather inadequate, and I already see his attention waning, his eyes flickering away from me. "Don't always rush towards what you want—what you want is not always the best for you."

"Then I shall make sure to live a long life, Professor." Then Tom inclines his head, and moves off. The carriage door shuts behind him with a click of finality.

_but rather of their folly_

fin

Any and all feedback (excepting flames) is appreciated. Please review. :)

Talriga


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